


the space between no longer and not yet

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [18]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The itch of eyes on him never quite goes away.





	the space between no longer and not yet

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr:
> 
> Gemini: The grey dogs in porcelain masks that wander the streets at night. The one that sat under a streetlight, and watched through your bedroom window.

The itch of eyes on him never quite goes away.

Shisui tries his best not to pay attention. He keeps moving, keeps his head down, focuses on his classes and his friends and making sure Itachi isn’t doing stupid shit again just because he thinks it's what the family wants. And that’s distracting, that’s definitely a distraction, but…

The eyes never seem to leave him.

It feels like being under a microscope, or maybe in a room made of glass. Heavy, always, and Shisui is twitchy with it, nervous even though he tries not to be. He finds himself looking out windows too often, searching for something he can’t quite see. It _feels_ like it should be there, watching him, visible the moment he turns his head, but he never sees anything.

Well. He never sees anything in the _daylight_ , at least.

It's probably a sign of cowardice that Shisui spends a good ten minutes staring at his awful, ugly, uncomfortable couch, debating how many cricks he'll wake up to in his neck if he sleeps there instead of his bedroom. Too many, probably, and it's pointless anyway; the living room has a window too, long and wide and with a tendency to rattle whenever the wind blows too hard. The curtains were the victim of a particularly vicious wrestling match with Sasuke a few months ago, which leaves the view of the street clear, and Shisui just—can't.

At least in his bedroom he can draw the curtains when it gets really bad, or even crawl into the closet. In the living room there's no other option.

“Stop spreading your stress pheromones all over the goddamn apartment,” Shisui roommate says disgustedly. And distractedly, since he’s got his nose in a book, a pen behind his ear, and his headphones sliding down his neck. He boots Shisui out of the way with a foot and an unfair amount of muscle mass, then keeps going.

For lack of anything better to do, Shisui follows Zabuza. “Test?” he asks, because the only other thing that gets Zabuza looking this tense is the guy he has a crush on trying to talk to him.

Zabuza growls, which is not the sort of sound Shisui ever thought an Econ and Politics major would make before he met Zabuza. “I'm spending the night at Kisame's,” he says, and as soon as Shisui opens his mouth to comment he snaps, “To _study_ , asshole.”

Shisui smothers a snicker, raising his hands. “I wasn’t even thinking it,” he protests.

Zabuza gives him a wholly disbelieving look, but grabs his backpack from the bench by the door and shoves his textbook into it, then asks, “You know how to call the police?”

Shisui blinks, caught entirely off guard. “What kind of question is that?” he demands.

Zabuza doesn’t look at him, even as he stuffs his feet in flipflops and pulls on a cow-print sweatshirt. Shisui would honestly be willing to put money on Zabuza having the worst fashion sense of anyone, ever. “You’ve been checking the windows,” he says shortly, and the set of his shoulders is something tense. “Every night. And you try to stay away from the windows. I've heard you pacing all night, too.”

Shisui's smile feels frozen on his face, but—it was probably too much to hope that Zabuza wouldn’t notice anything. “I—I don’t think it’s a stalker,” he manages, even though his throat feels thick.

Zabuza’s mouth is a tight, dangerous line. “Doesn’t mean there isn't someone there,” he says grimly, and turns to look at Shisui. “Call the police if you hear _anything_. My game system is worth more than your pride, asshole.”

“Weren’t you leaving?” Shisui retorts, which is weak, but at least he gets it out.

“Yeah, yeah.” Zabuza shoulders his backpack, opens the door, and turns a gimlet glare on Shisui once more. “ _Remember_ —”

Shisui grabs the edge of the door. “Come _on_ , you're going to be late to blow Kisame—” When Zabuza tries to grab him, he ducks the attempted throttle, laughing, and slams the door shut, pointedly turning the deadbolt. There's a moment of pounding, an angry snarl, and then a panicked curse as Zabuza realizes that he’s going to miss the bus. Shisui leans against the door, listening to the sound of his flipflops on the pavement, and then snorts, thumping his head back against the wood.

The house suddenly feels far, far too large and silent.

It’s getting dark, too. The sun is almost gone, and the streetlights are coming on, their fluorescent light spreading in pools across the street. Shisui debates turning on music, or maybe a movie, but—background noise will just make him paranoid about what it could be covering.

It’s a mistake, he _knows_ that, but he glances out the living room window as he collects his book, and—

There. Just outside the light, where the shadows are thickening into night, is an eerie shape. A dog, grey as a ghost, with a white porcelain mask covering its face, but it’s not doing anything Shisui would expect of a dog. It’s just…sitting there.

It’s staring at the apartment window, and Shisui's skin crawls with the feel of its eyes on him. _weeks_ now Shisui has been seeing them, seeing this one in particular—the others wander, but this one sits there all night, _stares_ , and Shisui never notices it in the daytime but he _knows_ with bone-deep certainty that it’s there even then.

He wants to bolt, to throw himself at the closet, crawl under his bed and roll himself into a ball. His breath shakes out of his lungs, and drops his book, staggers back. Thinks _I can't live like this_ , and wants to laugh at the mad irony. It’s _killing him_ , inch by inch, and he doesn’t even know _why_.

Maybe Zabuza’s absence is the trigger. Maybe Shisui is just exhausted of the constant observation, the inescapable prickling _awareness_ that’s been riding him for so long. With a surge of stupidity, of bravery, Shisui staggers upright, throws himself at the door, and wrenches it open. The front steps are slick with the recent rain, and he practically trips over them, skids on the cement of the walk, and shouts, “What the hell do you _want_?”

Silence.

When Shisui finds his feet and looks up, the dog is still watching him.

“ _No_ ,” Shisui snaps. “You don’t get to—to just _sit there_ , you’ve been _stalking me_! _Why_?”

No answer.

Fury and terror in equal measure drive Shisui forward, out into the deserted road. The grey dog just stares as he approaches, unmoving, and it’s _huge_ , lean to the point of being skeletal, the mask stark and menacing in the light of the lamp. Shisui is shaking, trembling all over, but he lashes out without thinking it through, and his fingers meet flesh-warm porcelain.

Someone smarter would probably pull back, turn and bolt for cover. Shisui grabs the mask and _wrenches_ , desperate to see what’s underneath.

As the mask comes away, there's a surge of muscle and limbs. Shisui recoils, a shout breaking from his throat, but he’s too slow. With inhuman speed, something hits him, and he goes crashing back into the overgrown grass of their front lawn. There's a weight on his chest, long limbs, hands on his arms, and Shisui wants to scream but—

A man hovers over him on his hands and knees, teeth sharp, eyes drowning-dark and full of something so wild Shisui loses his breath. He leans down, and Shisui gasps at the feel of hot breath on his throat, the way the man noses underneath his jaw to breathe in right against his skin. “Shisui,” he says, low and rough, and Shisui _shivers_ , head to toe and right down to his bones.

“How,” Shisui starts, but then the man is looking up, looking away, and he bares his sharp teeth like a dog’s snarl.

“Get up,” he says. “Go back inside. I can't save you from him if you're out here.”

 _Oh_ , Shisui thinks, and scrambles out from under the man as he rises, gets his feet under him but can't resist the urge to ask, “Why—why _me_?”

The man pauses, glancing back at Shisui, and he steps forward. Plucks the mask from Shisui's fingers with something like a smile, and asks, “Why is he after you? Or why am I guarding you?”

“Yes,” Shisui says helplessly.

It makes the man chuckle, and he leans in. the brush of lips against his forehead steals Shisui's breath completely. “I'm Kakashi. You’ll remember,” he says, like a promise. “Soon. But for now, go back inside and lock the doors.”

Dazed, Shisui does as he’s told. It’s only when he’s huddled in the kitchen, trying to work out what’s happening, that he realizes there's a bit of fur in his fingers, ghost-grey and soft.

Swallowing, Shisui lifts it to his nose, and—

There's something. A _knowing_ , just out of his reach, that feels like cool moonlight and warm lips. Shisui buries his face in his arms, pressing the fur up against his cheek, and listens to the echoing tick of the clock as Kakashi guards the door, and something dark and heavy looks for a way in.


End file.
